What Happened That Night
by WriterK83
Summary: While tracking a serial rapist, with Emily as bait, something goes horribly wrong.


Hi all, I hope you enjoy this! I don't want to waste my time or yours, so if it seems like this is a story people will enjoy, I'll be sure to continue! But you gotta let me know!

What Happened That Night - Chapter 1

Emily tapped her fingers restlessly against the gun at her hip. Without turning to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, she knew it had to be after 11. It was too late. And hot. Quiet, too, except for the sound of Derek's breath, loud and ragged in her ear.

She couldn't sleep, and she shifted under the thin sheets to try and find a more comfortable spot on the mattress. She heard Derek murmur for the tenth time that night, "How you doin, Emily?", when all of a sudden she stopped, her body stiffening as she strained to hear sounds that weren't there.

It was nothing. Again.

"Derek, if you talk one more time I'm going to rip you out of my ear."

"Whoa there," she heard back. "I'm just making sure you're still with us."

She smirked. "I think tonight was a bust."

By tonight, Emily was referring to the undercover op that had left her alone in a strange house, on an uncomfortable mattress, with Derek chatting her up through an earwig.

"He strikes before 12, give it time."

Emily tilted her head back into the pillow. By him, Derek was referring to the rapist who was attacking 30-something brunettes. After witnesses placed him near two separate crime scenes on the night of the attacks, the BAU was pretty sure they had their guy. What they didn't have, was evidence.

Luckily, they did have their very own brunette agent. Earlier that day, Emily had made sure her encounter with the suspect – at the coffee shop where he scouted his victims – was memorable. After spilling half her latte in his lap, she did her best to seem aloof and disinterested when he tried to engage her in conversation.

"Still there, Emily?"

"Yea I…" she stopped, a noise in the kitchen causing her hand to clench tight around the barrel of the gun. "Hold on," she whispered.

The plan was for the suspect to enter the bedroom where Emily was sleeping. Derek and a team of agents were in a van outside, and when Emily gave the signal, they'd enter the house. Hotch, Rossi and Reid, meanwhile, were covering points of escape around the perimeter.

She heard the unmistakable sound of a door close, and then footsteps. "He's here," she whispered again. "It's time."

Derek nodded at her prompt and crept slowly out of the van, motioning to the other agents to follow. He made his way up the lawn and to the house, pulling out a key to the side kitchen door. He stuck it in the lock, turned the knob and pushed on the door. But it wouldn't budge. Derek frowned and tried again. The lock clicked but again as he pushed, the door was stuck.

Shit.

He worked faster now, slinking around the side of the house, agents in tow, to the front door. He tried, and again the same thing.

"Abort," he hissed into his handpiece as he began to frantically slam his body into the door. The mission, the need to catch the perp in the act; it was over. Something had gone wrong and all Derek knew was that Emily was in there, alone, with a rapist.

And then he heard the crash.

Emily's heart was pounding fast, and she pictured Derek making his way across the front lawn. He must be at the front door by now, she thought.

And then the bedroom door opened.

She concentrated on making her breath slow and even, as if she was sleeping.

Derek would be here any moment.

She could feel someone standing over her bed, and she kept breathing. If she sprung on the perp now, it would change the plan and put Derek and the rest of the team in harms way when they had to decipher between two figures wrestling in the dark. She had to trust in her team.

Derek would be here any moment.

And then she heard a heavy breath, and a voice. "Hello, Emily," it said.

Emily? The name she used at the coffee shop and the name on the house….it was Cassie.

How did he know that she was….

A heavy hand, rough with calluses, forced down over her mouth.

"Abort, abort, abort" rang over and over in her ear.

And when another hand, equally as rough, found her stomach and then the waistband of her pants.

She sprung.


End file.
